Counting On The Cowboy

Chapter Three

Devree drove past the ranch house and pulled into the cabin parking lot. Maybe she could do this. Once the ranch hands had removed all the dead animal heads yesterday, ideas for the cabin’s decor took shape. A mix of rustic and shabby chic. This morning, her visit to Rustick’s Log Furnishings had been productive.

Resa—store owner, neighbor and friend—had been extremely helpful. And, so Landry wouldn’t feel useless, Devree had texted her pictures of her choices. With her sister’s approval, she’d purchased a back seat full of curtains, pillows and a bedspread while the furniture would arrive next week.

Arms laden with goodies, she stepped up on the porch and reached blindly to insert the key into the lock. But the door opened.

Brock. “Here, let me help you.” He tugged the bags out of her hands.

“Thanks.” Why did his accidental touch send a shiver through her? Even after he’d called her typical just yesterday.

“You’ve been busy. Me too. I caulked all the plumbing and popped all the trim to seal the joints. Where do you want this stuff?”

“On the couch. New furniture will arrive next week. Will it be in your way?”

“I should be done with the messy stuff by then.” He stashed the bags, then grabbed a putty knife, scraped a spot on the log wall and wiped the area with a cloth. “What about the old furniture?”

“Chase is sending ranch hands. Most of it will go in his man cave at the new house. What doesn’t will go to charities. Will you be doing any work in the bedroom or bathroom? I thought I’d put curtains up in there.”

“Go for it. Need a screwdriver?”

Why did he have to be so helpful? And appealing? “Come to think of it...”

“Have you ever hung curtains?”

“Hello? I have my own apartment.”

“Just offering my help. And a step stool.”

“That might be useful.”

He picked up a small stool from the corner, dug around in his toolbox. “Flat or Phillips?”

“Phillips.”

“You know your way around a screwdriver.” He handed it to her.

“I have a dad, you know.” When she saw his gaze drop, she wished she could take that back. She hadn’t meant to hurt him; it had just slipped out. “Thanks.” She grabbed the bag, hoofed it to the bedroom.

Brock followed, carrying the stool. “Sure you don’t need any help?”

“I’ve got this.” She turned to take the stool from him. Something scampered across her sandaled foot. She screamed, dropped the screwdriver and the stool.

“What?”

But she was too busy clambering onto the bed. Safely off the floor, she stood in the middle, scanning for movement.

“What?” His tone exasperated.

“I think—” she did a whole body shudder followed by a heebie-jeebies dance “—a mouse just ran across my foot.”

“Okay.” He reached for her hand. “Just calm down. Sit and relax before you fall off there and break your neck.”

“I’d really like to get out of here.” She gingerly sat down in the center of the bed, keeping her eyes on the edges, half expecting a mouse to come climbing up the bed skirt.

“Maybe that’s best.” He gestured toward the door.

“I’m afraid to put my feet on the floor.” She squeezed her eyes closed. Great. She’d just proven every city girl notion he had about her to be true.

“Do I need to carry you?”

Her eyes popped open, surveyed him for a moment. Feet on the floor with the mice? Or carried out by the handsome cowboy she barely knew? Which was worse? Definitely rodents. With a slow nod, she scooted toward him.

He scooped her up.

With no choice, she put her arms around his neck, tried not to cling too tight.

As he stepped out on the porch, an elderly couple hand in hand rounded the walking trail thirty feet away.

“Look, Henry, newlyweds.”

“In my day, you carried her inside, young man.” The man frowned. “Not out.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

As her cheeks flamed, she felt the deep rumble of Brock’s laughter. “You can put me down now.”

He bent to lower her. “You know it was probably the same mouse you let go yesterday.”

“Not funny.” She smacked him on the shoulder.

“That little dance you did sure was.” When she didn’t smile, he sobered. “Once we get the furniture out, it’ll be easier to get this place mouse-free with fewer places for them to hide.”

“I’ll be back post-evacuation.” She headed for the ranch house.

“Watch out for flying monkeys.” His chuckle echoed across the field.

What she really needed to watch out for was Brock.

He’d carried her out as if she weighed nothing. His strength had felt too comforting. Too safe.

And she knew from experience, the least safe place she could be was close to a man.

* * *

With a thousand things on his mind, Brock had awakened early. He strolled toward the fishing cabin with only birdsong and horse whinnies to greet him.

Past the cabin, he could see the chapel in the distance. The wood on the exterior was grayed with age. One of the hands told him it had come from an ancient barn a windstorm had toppled on the property a few months back. With a high peak in the middle and slanted roof on each side, the structure was a cross between a rustic chapel and a barn. Church always soothed him, no matter what was going on. He looked forward to attending services there.

But for now, he needed to focus. Maybe he could get some work done before Devree showed up to distract him. Two full days of working with her and he felt as if he’d barely gotten anything done. At least she’d held up her end of the bargain. She hadn’t tried to talk about his mother anymore.

And his mother had been true to her word. She’d steered clear of him. If they’d both just stick to their promises, he could stay. Help his old friend out, finish the cabins, get Chase moved into his new house. But it would never work. He’d run into her eventually. A new handyman was the only solution. Though Chase hadn’t gotten any more applicants. Yet.

“You’re stirring early.” Devree’s voice.

His feet stalled as he glanced around.

Over by the goat enclosures. Her foot propped on the bottom rail of the fence.

“I could say the same thing.” He counted the goats—all eleven of them. Right where they were supposed to be—males in one pen, females in the other.

“Who could sleep around here with that stupid rooster on duty?”

“Aw, come on. Rusty’s just doing his job. And a fine one at that.” Just as he’d tagged her—classic city girl through and through. Even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“I’m gonna buy him a muzzle.”

The image made him chuckle. “I don’t think that works on a rooster. I take it you’re not a morning person?”

“I’m fine with morning. But this is the wee hours in my book.” The sunlight picked out honeyed strands amidst her cinnamon hair.

“It’s daylight.” He tore his gaze away, checked his watch. Six thirty-eight to be exact.

“Yes. But it wasn’t when he started up.”

A goat clambered to the top of the play station, nudged the current resident out of his way. “So that first day, I’d have never taken you for a goat lover.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you standing here watching them instead of holding your nose and running the other way?”

She laughed a little at that. “I’ve been here long enough my sinuses are burned out and no longer detect farm animal smells. And goats are kind of fun. It’s like they’re playing king of the mountain. I want to see who wins.”

“Knock yourself out.” He tipped his hat, continued on to the cabin. Typical, but with a few surprises.

“I’ll be there once you get it all evacuated.”

He hurried down the path, eager to escape the scent of her apple shampoo. A scent that he was starting to recognize as uniquely hers. Just one more reason Chase needed to find another handyman and Brock needed to go on down the road.

As he stepped up onto the porch of the fishing cabin, a thud sounded at the back. Not Devree. Maybe the ranch hands were moving the old furniture out today.

He turned the knob, but it was still locked. He inserted the key, clicked the latch, opened the door. Just inside, a tightly woven wire cage with the grid open, a dozen mice still inside. “Huh?”

It was a live trap for larger animals, not the kind he’d bought. And besides, he’d put his traps in the bedroom and kitchen. He shut the wire grid, keeping the rodents locked inside, hurried toward the kitchen.

The window in the top of the live trap he’d set revealed it was empty, the release open. The back door stood ajar. He hurried out, looked around. Caught a glimpse of a man wearing a baseball cap a hundred yards away.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

The man bolted for the woods.

Brock shot after him, down the trail, past the barn and into the pine thicket behind it.

The runner stayed off the trail. Briars clawed at Brock’s jeans. Some jabbed into tender flesh. The trees and undergrowth were so dense he couldn’t see the guy anymore, just followed the sound of his escape. Prayed he didn’t blindly step on a rattler.

A branch swatted him in the face. Eyes tearing up, he couldn’t see a thing. Still, he was caught off guard when he stepped in a hole, his knee buckling, and he went down. He jumped up quick, but it was quiet as he peered into the dense sea of green. Nothing, as he stood there and listened for several minutes.

Why would the man put mice in the cabin? He headed back toward the structure. It explained the constant infestation. And brought up a whole host of new questions.

* * *

Devree kept her eyes on the ground. Aware that snakes slithered in the cool of the morning and evening this time of year, she stayed on the path to the fishing cabin.

The rooster crowed again, close by. Surely, the guests hated him as much as she did.

“I’m up already,” she growled. “Can’t you just sleep in sometimes?”

A flash of red to her left. The rooster running at her.

She bolted for the fishing cabin, snakes forgotten, but the rooster cut her off. A flap of amber-colored wings, blue-and-green tail feathers, spurs aimed at her as he lunged/flew in her direction. She dodged, bit her tongue to keep from screaming. No waking Chase again or alerting Brock to come to her rescue. She scrambled around Rusty. He crowed in hot pursuit. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t mind if Brock showed up about now.

“You stupid bird, leave me alone.” She made it to the cabin porch, grabbed a broom, spun and jabbed it at the rooster.

He paced back and forth, looking cocky, crowed again, then turned and headed up the path back to the barn.

“Take that, you stupid rooster.” But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t just leave him loose to attack guests. She followed at a distance. Not a ranch hand in sight to help her.

Instead of going to his coop, the rooster stopped near the goat pen, pecked at the ground. Though she’d never been inside the barn, if she could find some feed, maybe she could lure the foul fowl back into his lair.

At least he was the only one out. She rounded the goat pen, found a bucket near the chicken coop with seeds in it, opened the wire door of the pen, and jogged back to the huge bird. But not too close.

“Look what I got, big fella.”

The rooster cocked his head, strutted in her direction. Faster than she was comfortable with, but she still had the broom. She backed all the way to the pen, then threw the bucket inside. Thankfully, the rooster went in and she fastened the door in place.

She blew out a big breath, closed her eyes, leaned her forehead on the hand that was still holding the broom.

A noise behind her. She jabbed the broom as she spun around.

And almost gouged Brock in the chest.

His arms went up in a defensive stance. “I never would have pegged you for having such impressive rooster wrangling skills.”

She dropped the broom, covered her face with her hands. “Sorry. I thought Rusty had a friend.”

“I doubt he has any with that attitude. Whoa! Get back in there.” Brock scooped up the broom, darted around her. “No wonder he got out, there’s a hole in the pen.”

By the time she turned around, Brock had the broom clamped over the hole. The rooster flapped his wings and crowed, but at least he wasn’t going anywhere.

“That’s weird.” Brock knelt, inspected the wire.

“What?”

“It’s been cut. With wire cutters.” He ran his fingers along the slit. “See how it’s crimped—dull wire cutters do that.”

“Why would someone cut the wire?”

“I have no idea. But probably for the same reason they’d bring a live trap full of mice to the cabin.”

“Huh?” She shuddered. “Someone opened the trap you set?”

He told her about the extra trap and chasing the man he’d dubbed Ball-Cap into the woods.

“He broke in?” Her voice cracked. “Do you know who he was?”

“I couldn’t get a good look. He was too far away. But I don’t know many folks around here, anyway.”

“So someone’s been bringing mice to the fishing cabin. And they cut the wire, so the rooster would get out. Why would anyone do that?”

“I’m not sure. But once I get this wire fixed, we need to tell Chase. Can you hold the broom while I find something to repair the hole?”

“Sure.” She took the broom from him. As soon as he stepped away, the rooster flapped at the hole. But she kept him at bay.

Brock hurried back with a spool of wire and cutters. He threaded the wire to make a seam across the hole, with the rooster flogging the broom through the whole procedure. By the time the repair was finished, she was shaking.

“That should keep him.” He raised up, took the broom from her. “Hey.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “You okay?”

“I just don’t know who would want to hurt Landry and Chase. She can’t handle this.”

“We won’t tell her. But Chase has to know someone has it out for this place. Maybe he’ll know who we’re dealing with. Or it could be teenagers playing pranks. Whoever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it. And it’ll be okay.” He squeezed her hand.

Gentle, calloused palm. Soothing, comforting. And suddenly, the effect the cowboy’s touch had on her was much more worrisome than dude ranch hijinks.

Chapter Four

“We can’t tell Landry about this.” Chase paced the office.

“That’s why we asked to talk to you alone.” If only Brock could take away his friend’s stress. But instead, he was adding to it.

“What about a competing dude ranch?” Devree picked at her nails. “Any owners capable of pulling something like this to steal business?”

“No. The other owners are stand up people. They might undercut our prices, but not purposely try to sabotage us. I can’t imagine anyone I know doing this.”

“Anyone got a bone to pick with you?” Brock pressed on. They had to figure this out. “An ex-employee maybe?”

Chase snapped his fingers. “There was a ranch hand. Nash Porter. I fired him shortly after Landry and I met. A real troublemaker.”

“Is he still around these parts?” He glanced at Devree.

Fiddling with her phone? Was she trying to play it calm, ease Chase’s worries?

“He’s in jail.” She caught his gaze.

“He is? How do you know?” Chase zeroed in on her.

“I just googled him. Assault and battery, stemming from a bar fight.”

“I’m not surprised.” Chase tunneled his fingers through his hair. “There’s no one else I can think of. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Not a word to Landry. I’ll have the locks changed for the cabin. Only y’all get keys. No one else.”

“I’ll change them out today.”

“And I’m sorry about the rooster, Devree. He won’t bother you again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should have seen her. She handled him like a pro.” Maybe she was tougher than she realized. And Brock was beginning to suspect she didn’t hate the country as much as she thought she did. Trouble was—she’d probably never realize it.

Besides, his mom had toughed it out once. Then returned to the city just like Devree would.

“Come to supper with us tomorrow night, Brock. Landry’s been wanting to have you join us.”

“I reckon I’m always up for good grub.”

“Six o’clock. But no talk of live traps or wire cutters or disgruntled saboteurs.”

“My lips are sealed. But does that mean I can’t tell about watching this one run from Rusty?”

Chase chuckled. “As long as you don’t mention how he got out.”

“I bet y’all wouldn’t laugh if his spurs were aimed in your direction.” Devree’s cheeks went pink, but her good-natured smile revealed only affection for her brother-in-law.

“You’re right.” Chase sobered. “He could have easily hurt you.”

“No harm done. Except for two years he shaved off my life expectancy.” She stood. “We better get to work. The hands are coming to move the old furniture out this morning.”

“I emptied the interloper’s live trap and reset both.” He followed her lead. “Maybe the mouse population has decreased during our absence.”

Devree closed her eyes for a second, then headed for the door. “Don’t worry, Chase. We’re on it. This wedding will go off without a hitch and the happy couple will have a pristine cabin ready for their honeymoon.”

“I still think we should report it to the police.” Brock adjusted his hat.

“No!” Chase cleared his throat. “It would get around town and Landry would hear of it for sure. Just keep an eye on things.”

“Will do.” Brock followed Devree out. The guy he’d chased into the woods worried him. But he wanted to keep an eye on Devree most of all. What if she’d gotten to the cabin first? Caught Ball-Cap in the act. He could have hurt her. Once they were outside, he grabbed her elbow.

She turned to face him with a puzzled frown. “What?”

“I’m going to the hardware store to get new locks. I don’t want you going to the cabin alone.”

“Trust me, I won’t. Too many mice for my comfort.” But her attempt to make light of the situation didn’t disguise what he saw deep in her eyes.

Fear.

* * *

The dude ranch dining room was hopping with guests as the drone of multiple conversations filled the room. Typical Friday night. Devree sat in a secluded corner with Landry and Chase, as Brock gave a detailed recount of her bout with Rusty.

“I wish I could have seen it.” Landry giggled. “I can’t believe you got him back in the pen all by yourself.”

Devree shrugged, as if her rooster wrangling was nothing. “You expected me to turn into a screaming ninny?”

“Well—yes.”

It was good to hear her sister laugh, even if it was at her expense.

But then Landry frowned. “I wonder how he got out.”

Devree’s gaze met Brock’s, then shifted to her brother-in-law.

“It doesn’t matter how.” Chase refolded his napkin. “It can’t happen again. What if he’d gone after a guest? Or a child?”

“I guess you’re right.” Landry groaned. “But he’s the prettiest rooster I’ve ever seen. I hate to part with him.”

The kitchen doors opened and Chase’s parents entered, headed their way with his chef dad carrying a covered roasting dish.

“What’s this?” Landry’s hand went to her chest. “I thought we were having buffet along with our guests.”

“We always try our new dishes out on family.” Chase’s dad, Elliot, took the lid off with a flourish to reveal a large Thanksgiving-worthy turkey.

“Brock, I’m so glad you’re back.” Chase’s mom, Janice, squeezed his shoulders. “We always thought the world of you. And your folks.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be back.” There were so many mixed emotions on his face Devree wasn’t sure she could keep up. A frown marred his brow, and she could tell his smile was forced. But his pale green eyes shone with happy memories. He seemed genuinely glad to be here, but jumpy as if he expected Becca to pounce on him at any minute.

“We’ll leave you to your meal. I’ll need honest opinions.” Elliot wiped his hands on his apron, headed back to the kitchen, Janice trailing him.

“What were we talking about?” Landry frowned.

“Rusty.” Chase picked up the large carving knife and fork, started to work on the bird. “I’ve already taken care of it. He won’t bother anyone else around here.”

Devree’s gaze dropped to the bird as Chase made a deep slice across the breast. On it’s back, all fours in the air. Why would Elliot try a new turkey recipe so far away from Thanksgiving? Or was it Rusty? Her eyes widened.

As Chase doled out slabs of meat, her appetite fled.

“Give me your plate, Devree.” Chase held a large slice of meat between the carving set.

Mute, she shook her head.

“Are you okay? You look rather pale.” Landry touched her hand.

“I can’t eat him.” Her vision clouded. He may have been mean, but she hadn’t wanted him to die.

“Who?”

“I can’t eat a rooster I knew by name.”

Chase guffawed. “I can assure you, this isn’t Rusty. It’s turkey.”

Her eyes met his. “You promise?”

“It’s turkey.” Landry squeezed her hand. “Rusty may be ornery, but he’s much too pretty to eat. What did you do with him, Chase?”

“I gave him to the Whitlows. He’s alive and well and far enough away you’ll be able to sleep in tomorrow morning.”

A relieved sigh whooshed out of her.

“Can I have your plate now?” Chase grinned.

She lifted her plate to accept the slice of meat as he lost his struggle with laughter. Again, at her expense. But she joined him. Soon Landry and Brock did too.

Appetite returned, she bowed her head as Chase prayed over the meal. Amens rounded the table and she muttered hers.

“The vegetables are on the buffet.” Chase picked up his and Landry’s plates, headed that way.

Devree caught Brock’s gaze as she stood. She saw something different in his eyes—respect maybe?

Whatever it was made her pulse kick up a notch.

* * *

Dread weighed heavy on Brock’s shoulders as he folded his napkin, set it by his plate. At least Chase and Landry hadn’t harangued him about his mom during the meal. Or invited her to join them.

Though he’d have been more at ease if they hadn’t included Devree. He couldn’t seem to escape her presence and she always did a number on his peace of mind.

It was nice to see Chase’s parents again. They’d always been such nice and welcoming folks. And the meal was mouthwatering. He thought of the moment Devree was sure the turkey was Rusty and almost lapsed into another bout of stomach-cramping laughter. How could a woman be so empathetic she didn’t want to eat a rooster who’d tried to impale her?

“I don’t mean to rush, but I need to get this lady back to her couch.” Chase rose to his feet.

“Don’t mind me.” Brock picked up his hat, scooted his chair out. “That was the best meal I’ve had in some time. Is it always buffet here?”

“It depends on how many guests we have. When we’re heavily booked, buffet is easier. I sure miss the kitchen.” Landry stared longingly at the doors. “Your parents could probably use my help.”

“They’re fine.” Chase scooped her up.

A few guests smiled; no one seemed to think it odd to see a pregnant woman carried out.

“I’ll break your back.” Landry giggled as Chase walked toward the foyer with her cradled in his arms. “Hey, Brock, don’t run off. Join us in the great room.”

He’d have loved to come up with an excuse. He was afraid, despite their deal, they’d bring up his mother. For that matter, if he went back to his bunk, he could avoid running into her. But he worked for the Donovans. He couldn’t really refuse their offer.

“Sure. I’ll get the door.” Brock opened the double doors into the lobby. Chase carried his wife through.

As Devree trailed them, she glanced back at Brock. Her rich blue dress matched her eyes, caused his breath to stutter.

Landry smacked Chase in the chest. “If I could eat laying down, you’d make me, wouldn’t you?”

“Whatever it takes.” The seriousness in his tone silenced her protests.

She patted her stomach. “We’re fine. Don’t worry.”

He set her down—oh, so gently—on the couch. The care and love in his eyes reminded Brock of just what was at stake. Making the situation with his mother seem trivial.

“Happy Trails” started up, Chase’s ringtone. He dug his phone from his pocket, sighed and turned it off.

“Who was it?”

“That real estate developer. You’d think as many times as I’ve rejected his call, he’d realize he’s barking up the wrong tree. This place has been in my family for decades.” Chase took his place at the end of the couch with Landry’s feet in his lap. “How’s the fishing cabin coming?”

Despite Chase’s attempt to change the subject, Brock’s brain was stuck on the real estate developer. Took him back to his days of hounding landowners during his short-lived and ill-fated business partnership.

“It’s overrun with mice.” Devree clamped a hand to her mouth, cut her gaze to Landry. “But we’re handling it.”

“I won’t faint.” Landry rolled her eyes. “I can handle the truth. I just don’t understand where they’re coming from. It’s like somebody’s trucking them in or something.”

Devree’s gaze met Brock’s.

“I caulked all the plumbing, around the windows and doors, and underneath the baseboards and trim. With it airtight, we’ll conquer them.” And changed the locks so Ball-Cap couldn’t bring in more. “We got the old furniture out today. That should help.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Landry plumped her pillow. “I have to admit, I was getting worried.”

“We’ll have the cabin ready. I promise.” Devree sat down in a cowhide wingback chair. “I got the curtains and bedspread today and the furniture will be here next week. I got some wall decor for the chapel too.” Her focus went to the coffee table.

Brock settled in the matching chair and followed her gaze to an architectural magazine with a picture of him on the cover. An article from long ago. The city girl reporter had flirted with him mercilessly, tagging him “the cowboy carpenter,” and made a big deal about him wearing a Stetson instead of a hard hat. He’d built luxury cabins for wealthy clients all over Texas back then. A lifetime ago.

“Why did you stop building your cabins?” Chase gestured to the magazine. “The article’s quite impressive.”

His mouth went dry. He didn’t want to get into the fiasco with Phoebe. And her father. “I went into partnership, tried to go on a grander scale, but it didn’t work out.”

“I wish we could afford your cabins here.” Landry rolled onto her side. “I’m afraid ours probably seem beneath you.”

“They’re cozy and perfect for a vacation. Besides, I’m happy to be here. To help out a friend.” He was. He just wished he wasn’t constantly distracted by Devree and her pretty blue eyes. And his mother lurking about somewhere on the premises weighed heavy on his mind. He stood. “I appreciate y’all inviting me to supper, but I think I’ll turn in.”

“Glad you could make it. Eat in the dining room anytime you like. On the house.”

“I don’t mind paying.”

“We know. But you’re getting us out of a major bind. The least we can do is feed you.”

“Good night, then.” He headed for the exit. The night sounds—frog’s croaks, cricket’s chirps, horse’s whinnies—tugged at him. He’d sat on the porch swing many a night with his dad. He knew he should get going, back to his room. But as housekeeper, his mom should be long gone by now. He could sit a spell.

Closing his eyes, he settled on the swing. Old spice cologne and tales of the day’s handyman chores filled his memory. His dad’s calloused hands gentle, his voice low. Brock leaning his cheek on his dad’s arm. He’d often fallen asleep in the swing, then awoken in his bed the next morning.

The door opened and he became instantly alert. Surely, not his mom. He stiffened, then quickly relaxed as Devree stepped outside. Gasping when she spotted him.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were out here.”

“I didn’t mean to be.”

“I love sitting on the porch swing at night.”

He scooted to the end, patted the slats beside him. “Feel free.”

She hesitated a moment, but headed his way in the end. The swing barely shifted with her slight weight.

“I don’t know why I like it out here.” She shuddered. “There’s probably snakes lurking. Or bats. Or bears for that matter. Maybe even a man with wire cutters. But I feel safe so close to the house and I love the night sounds. You don’t get that in the city.”

“I imagine not.”

“And the stars are so bright here. So many of them.”

He scanned the horizon, ashamed he often took the stars for granted. The black curtain sprinkled with sparkling flecks spread for miles. “So, why do you stay there?”

“It’s where I belong. It’s nice to visit the country—hear the sounds, experience the slowed-down lifestyle—but I could never live here. I’d be bored to tears.”

Her statement was a good reminder. For a short time, they’d work together. Then they’d go their separate ways. “I could never live anywhere else.”

“Do you think we put Landry’s mind at ease? With my blurting out the mouse issue.”

“She seemed relieved.” The swing had almost stopped and he pushed off with his boot. “Just wish she wasn’t right about someone trucking mice into the fishing cabin. Maybe I scared him off and the mice will be gone in the morning.”

“Where do you even find so many mice?”

“Good question. Maybe the city dump.”

“We should go there, ask around, see if anyone’s been setting traps.”

With the renewed swaying, a waft of apples caught his senses. “What are you, a detective?”

“I just want this craziness to end. If we don’t get rid of the mice before the Brighton/Anderson wedding, it’ll be a disaster.”

“The cabin’s caulked as tight as a storm shelter and the locks have been changed. I think the mice invasion is over.”

“Maybe so. But if someone’s trying to sabotage the dude ranch, they’ll come up with another way. He broke into the cabin.” The quiver in her voice tugged at him. “What if the ranch house is next?”

“The last thing we need is you playing amateur detective. We don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with here. Leave it to Chase and me to ask questions or do any investigating. Understood?”